The Death of Nnanji (21 page)

So the house of Arganari was ending. But XIV wasn’t going to abandon his throne and his cities to the Casr barbarians without a fight.

Exhausted by the struggle and the pain in his hips, he reached the end of the gallery to find the three swordsmen oxen waiting just inside the door. He sent them off to bar the chapel door, while he went in search of a bath, a soothing massage, and his breakfast.

When he was ready to eat, he sent word to Daimea to join him in the state banqueting hall. He ate there from habit, but it might as well have been the porters’ mess for all he could see of its opulence. He was informed that her Majesty was sleeping late that morning, and had not yet rung for her tea.

Hating eating alone, he sent for Reeve Pollex to discuss Wizard Krandrak’s warnings. He had almost finished his snack when the page returned to say that the reeve could not be found, but he must be somewhere in the palace because his horse was in its stall; the swordsmen were still looking for him. Arganari could imagine a good place to look and suspected that the page could, too.

At that moment Argair came skipping in, bright and fresh as a spring morning. She kissed her father’s cheek, sat on the closest chair uninvited, and reached for the sweetmeat dish. She was going to be a great beauty, like her mother.

“Daddy, I want a falcon. Can I have a falcon? For my very own?” Her resemblance to Daimea became even more marked when she wanted something.

“This is not the proper time of year to start training a bird, my dear. But you can start taking lessons, if you want.”

She pouted. “Don’t like lessons.”

She would have to learn to like lessons if she expected to be queen, but she was too young to understand that yet. “I shall be going to the temple this morning. Would you like to come down to the city with me?”

“No. I want to go riding.”

“Then have a nice ride. Which pony are you going to take?”

Of course a horse was much more interesting than a father at her age. He was seven times her age and found it almost impossible to hold a conversation with her. After he had refused to give her an all-white pony, a ruby necklace like Mommy’s, and four
really cute
pages of her own in a special livery, Arganari was quite glad to see a tall adult figure approaching against the light and hear the pad of a swordsman’s boots. He sent Argair off to her nurse, who would be lurking in the mist somewhere.

Pollex whipped out his sword and made the salute to a superior. The king struggled to his feet and gave him the response to an equal, acknowledgment of his rank. He could smell wet hair from the swordsman’s ponytail, which was better than the sort of odor he emitted sometimes. Arganari could imagine the gleam of contempt in the man’s eyes and thanked the Goddess that he did not have to see it. He had long ago recognized what sort of a woman he had married, but she needed a husband of her own age; he blamed himself for being unable to satisfy her. He had no intention of exposing her or sending her away, as long as she didn’t try to slip any strangers into the royal lineage. Daimea was quite smart enough to know that, and smart enough not to stay with any one lover long enough to give him ideas of making the arrangement permanent.

“Sit, reeve. Help yourself to some wine, and food if you’re peckish.”
After your exertions.
“I had a message from the Fire God this morning.”

“What does the Dread Lord want?” asked Pollex with his mouth full already.

“He is confident that the Tryst will come at us from Soo, over the Mule Hills, and we must expect it by Barbers’ Day. You are to assemble the largest army and posse you can and prepare to fight on the far bank. The god also insists that Grand Wizard Krandrak have overall command.”

“Huh. And what does a sorcerer know about war?”

“I expect his god knows a great deal about it.”
And his god provides us with a lot more direct help than the Goddess ever gives us, Goddess forgive me for thinking so.
“Do you feel capable of winning this war without Kra’s assistance?”

“Kra didn’t need my assistance to start it. Or yours, your Majesty. Did Krandrak ask your permission before he struck down two dozen honest swordsmen with his thunder weapons?”

“He warned me more than a year ago that the Tryst was coming. I agreed that Plo and Kra must join forces to resist it. I discussed it with you and you agreed also. Is burning down brothels better than using thunder weapons?”

“Yes. Only fools get so drunk that they cannot escape from a burning building. I tried to give the Tryst warnings, so that it might back off and find victims elsewhere without losing too much face. Kra forced the issue with its foul sorcery. That is not an honorable way to fight. What does he want of us?”

Arganari told him.

“As your Majesty commands. The god wants us to fight on the left bank? What happens if he is wrong about the Tryst and Lord Whatever-You-Said—”

“Shonsu.”

“Shonsu. So what happens if this Shonsu comes upriver from Arbo, instead of overland from Soo, and catches me and your swordsmen on the left bank and you and Plo on the other?”

“You think a god can be deceived? He knows exactly what the Tryst is doing. It sailed two weeks ago. If he doesn’t tell us, he will tell his sorcerers. Are you asking to be replaced, Lord Pollex? If you are unwilling to defend me and my cities, as you swore you would when I appointed you, then now is the time to unravel your oath, take up your bedroll, and go.”
And no, you can’t take my wife with you.

“Gods’ balls, no! I will stake Lord Shonsu and his Sixths out on the north gallery so you can watch the crows eating them. I am merely pointing out that I am a trained fighter and a showoff trickster of a magician is not. I am minded to saddle up Rapier and ride to Kra to consult with Krandrak face to face. Provided your Majesty permits, of course.”

Nice of him to ask.
“Yes, I will gladly give my permission, provided you do not neglect the necessary war preparations.”

“Which will require money, sire, cartloads of gold. A civilian posse must be fed, billeted, paid and trained until the enemy comes. And of course it must be armed, which means buying or making weapons. Other cities will not lend their swordsmen cheaply in such an emergency, nor will sailors hire out their vessels.”

“We must explain to the people that paying taxes for defense is cheaper than losing our freedom and possessions to an avaricious invader. Would they rather see their daughters raped and sons murdered?”

“With respect, sire, preach that to them by all means. The last time you decreed a levy and my men went around with the collectors, they were stoned. This will be the third season in a row you have taxed the city. Reeve Ozimshello of Fex told me that some assessors there were clubbed to death.”

Arganari sighed, because he knew the truth of what the brute was saying. “How much?”

There was a pause, hopefully while the swordsman considered his tactics and gave the costs due thought. Or he might just be leering and drooling at how much he could rake off for his brothers, sisters, and mistresses. “Three thousand marks.”

“No! So much?”

“Not a jot less, if we are to have a chance of winning.”

Arganari wondered how much of that he might raise himself. He had already stripped the palace of many of its valuables. What use were they when he couldn’t see them?

“Of course it will be easier for me, your Majesty. If the Tryst reaches the city, it will be over my dead body, and I will be safe in the arms of the Goddess. But you will have to witness the rape of your city. They will burn Plo as they burned Zek. Sons will die or be enslaved, daughters will become the playthings of swordsmen.”

Arganari shuddered. “Remind me. How much did we raise with the last levy?”

“Nine hundred marks in Plo, six hundred and change in Fex.”

“And you want me to extract twice that this time? People will be starving!”

“No money, no defense, sire.”

After a sorrowful moment Arganari said, “Very well. If it must be, it must be.”

Deciding that he must go to the temple, the king sent for his carrying chair, which was brought in and set down beside him by four large persons wearing the black loincloths of slaves. He had just completed the painful process of climbing aboard when he heard a swish of satin. Daimea leaned in to peck his cheek and let him catch a whiff of her favorite scent.

She gushed, of course. She always did these days, speaking to him as if he was a child. “Darling, I am so sorry I did not join you for breakfast. I was awake half the night worrying about the war, and then, of course, I slept well past my usual hour for rising. I am told you were summoned by the Fire God. That must have been a frightening experience for you. You are so brave…”

And more of the same. Had she just been entertaining Pollex, or had there been another before him? Arganari had long since stopped caring. He liked being fussed over and treated as a human being instead of just a fountain of money and favors. He kissed her again before she left, so he could catch another glimpse of her gorgeous face. Only his wife and daughter ever came close enough for him to see them clearly. Lesser people did not embrace monarchs.

Escorted by a platoon of swordsmen, the king of Plo and Fex descended the steep, zigzag road to the city and then was carried through its winding streets to the temple on the river bank. His grandfather had rarely gone anywhere without a band preceding him, but Arganari had stopped that as soon as he was crowned. At first he had walked on his own two feet with just three or four swordsmen at his heels. The people had cheered him back then, often knelt as he passed, and he had smiled at them and given them blessings. After Argie’s death he had taken to going on horseback, but they had still often cheered. Now they hung their heads in silence. He did not know where he had gone wrong. Perhaps he had outstayed his welcome and they were just bored with him. Or they might hate him because he had not given them an heir, so they rightly feared the invasion, insurrection, civil war, and many other horrors that must follow his death.

The temple was large and cold, not yet warmed by the weak spring sunshine. He dismounted at the entrance, under the seven great arches that faced the River. By the time he had tap-tapped his way through the door, a trio of Sixths were there to welcome him, bowing low, praising the Goddess; a couple of sturdy Thirds had moved in close so he could lean on their arms. Even with them taking most of his weight, he needed a long time to hobble the length of the nave. When he drew close to the dais, the other worshipers and priests drew back, so that he might pray alone. His supporters set him down gently on his knees and then withdrew.

“Keep my heart true to Your laws,” he began, laying his left hand on the tiles, finding comfort in the ancient words, so familiar to him since he was a child.

The figure of the Goddess was the traditional woman, robed and seated, with her featureless face turned towards her River. It was modeled on the great image in Hann, of course, except that here in Plo it shone with a glorious tiling of lapis lazuli, mined in the Mule Hills across the River. It was one of the great sorrows of Arganari’s life that he had never made the pilgrimage to Hann. It had been planned, but his grandfather’s sudden death had intervened.

Completing the ritual, he heaved himself as erect as he could manage, sitting on his heels. Now he was allowed a personal prayer. “Great Goddess, your will be done, but I most humbly beseech you to save your people from war and the nightmares of barbarian invasion. Take my life if it will help, but guard the cities you entrusted to me.”

What else could he say?
Send me a miracle? The Fire God promised to deliver the son of my enemy into my hands if I do as he bids me. I have obeyed your laws all my life. Cannot you send some word to comfort me in this, my time of troubles, some sign to calm my fears? Must I drive my people into poverty to rescue them from violence? Show me, show me how I can deliver my cities from strife, Great Mother.

She was just a blue blur, of course, and had been for years. In fact not very much of her would have been visible even had his sight been returned by a miracle, for the dais before the idol was piled high with the offerings of centuries, a great heap of wealth. He ought to have the platform extended yet again, before She vanished altogether from mortal sight. Or, alternatively…
Oh, of course!

He looked around and gestured urgently to no one in particular. In moments his two bearer priests were at his side, lifting him.

“I will now receive the holy mothers,” he said.

As soon as he was out of public gaze, two more low-rank priests appeared with his carrying chair and the four of them carried him upstairs to the throne room. He hadn’t sat on the high priests’ throne for years. It was damnably hard and cold on his shrunken buttocks, and he wondered if the addition of a simple cushion would be sacrilegious.

The holy mothers of Plo usually numbered about a dozen. Arganari no longer bothered to keep track, and he hadn’t summoned them in so long that most of the faces would have been unfamiliar to him even if he could see them. Some of them were carried in and must be as decrepit as he was. When they were ready, one of them nudged the eldest, who cried out in the quavery shout of the very deaf: “You summoned us, Holy One?”

“I did. This morning I was called to the chapel of the Fire God to receive a warning. The Tryst, which was enslaving cities downstream from us last fall and was beaten back, is sending a much greater army against us.”

Not one moan of response. Those who could hear him probably assumed that their status as senior priestesses would shield them from harm.

“We must raise an army of our own to defend the realm and our neighbors. For this we need money, much money.”

“More taxes?” called out an ancient voice. Ignoring scandalized hushing noises, she persisted. “In your grandfather’s day the imposts were a quarter as much and came only once a year.”

This time the background noises were mostly in agreement.